


The City

by ladyblack888 (888mph)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/888mph/pseuds/ladyblack888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something rotten in the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The City

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on April, 2006.

The city is grey.  
Through the window the buildings show their concrete faces, with windows blackened by night and sleep. They feel safe, the Muggles. Above their heads the clouds of rain are pregnant with smoke from too many inhabitants that drills holes in their lungs, killing them slowly. And the homeless man sleeping on the steps of the Chinese restaurant is dying of pneumonia.  
But they feel safe. They don’t know that for a green mark to float above the ruins of their homes there’s only a spell and a curse needed.  
They don’t know that there are green marks that float on the grey sky.

These days start where the other ends.  
They leave the Order brushing battles from their shoulders, their boots leaving dark prints of blood on the streets darkened by rain. A pub is as good as any other, so long the alcohol is easy and the laughter easier, and soon the minutes turn into hours and they have to find their way home in streets with no moon.  
When Remus falls on their bed Sirius has already dropped his trousers. He is straddling Remus' chest, who takes him in his mouth, the fingers of one hand fucking Sirius’ arse while the other is wrapped around Remus’ own cock. Sirius has a badly lit cigarette on his chapped lips, and it’s quick and means nothing, but at least is something.  
\- There’s something rotten in the city when nineteen years old boys see sex as something and not as a brand new world and a walk on the moon (on feet or on paws it shouldn’t have mattered).

Growing up is cruel.  
It’s even more cruel when children are forced to be adults.  
Sometimes the outcome is worth everything, because a mother forgets the pain the moment she sees her child for the first time (and one day Muggles will make pills out of that and will call it Prozac).  
But these days aren’t about birth and there are children that have seen more dead bodies than an old man will ever see.

The sun is rising.  
There is no time for sleep and hangovers, for showers that take away the smell of spunk and crowded pubs from their skins.  
Sirius sits on the bed. He’s still wearing the t-shirt from the day before.  
The curves of the clouds and the smoke in the sky catch the red sun like the flame of a candle on a diamond.  
Remus wraps an arm around Sirius' waist, smoking a cigarette against his back and the moldy wall (it’s not lack of money, but of time. Because when you’re nineteen, years may go by like decades, but tomorrow comes in a heartbeat).  
It’s a simple gesture that screams for borrowed time, Remus’ arm weighting like a thousand suns on Sirius’ frame.

But Sirius understands why the Muggles feel safe inside their little grey castles of concrete.


End file.
